Chapter Eleven: Cunning Plans

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
November 2-3, 1996 (Draco Malfoy's sixth year)

Draco hurriedly made his way back towards the Slytherin common room, his stomach in knots. He passed by students sneaking through the hallways, but paid them no heed. He wasn't a Prefect anymore, so what the hell did he care if someone broke the rules? He did it all the time.

He thought back to Hermione Granger crying on the floor at his feet. Damn that girl for getting under his skin! She was the most irritating, infuriating, naïve person he'd ever met! And yet, here he was, pining away for her like a lovesick loser. He wasn't even sure how he'd let that happen.

It had started as a game, simply because he'd wanted to drive her barmy. Doing so, he'd thought, would get his rocks off. So, he'd salaciously stared at her in class, in the hallways, at mealtimes in the Great Hall, specifically because he knew it made her uncomfortable. Whenever their gazes would connect she'd blush and quickly look away, and he'd silently congratulate himself on capturing her attention in a way he'd never done before.

For the first week and a half, it had been a rather successful plan.

By the middle of the second week, though, he'd started noticing Gryffindor's Princess back. All of the traits that had previously provoked him – the way she'd stare down her pert nose at him, her serious brown eyes, her unruly hair, even her snobbish walk – weren't quite so ugly anymore. They became amusing fancies, and then they were suddenly attractive quirks. He'd begun thinking about her when he was studying, unconsciously sought her out when walking the hallways, and dreamed about kissing her small, pink mouth.

By Sunday of the second week, Draco knew he was in trouble. He'd become infatuated. His plan had turned completely around on him.

Bloody, buggering hell! How could he have been so stupid? Wanting Granger was a mistake of epic proportions that could land him in a heap of trouble – if not murdered outright by the Dark Lord, should his Master find out the truth.

Having made it back to the Slytherin common area, he swiftly crossed the room, completely ignoring those lounging in the big chairs and on the couches, and directly went up the stairs to his dorm room. Shutting the door behind him, he slipped off his shoes and threw himself down onto his bed, shutting all of the curtains around the canopy with a wave of his wand and an expertly cast Muffliato spell for privacy. This was his long ago, pre-arranged signal to the others who shared his room that he didn't want to be disturbed. Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini all knew by now to adhere to the warning.

He looked up at the green satin canopy overhead and rubbed his tired eyes. Maybe he'd just turn in for the night. He'd had a grueling term so far between his studies and his Lord's tasks, and he wasn't solving any problems with his current state of mental exhaustion.

Infatuated as he was, though, his thoughts returned to her again.

After admitting to himself that he'd found Granger attractive that second week in September, he'd begun covertly following her around the castle, hoping for a chance for… he didn't know what. To be alone with her, he guessed. He hadn't been clearly thinking about what he'd do if he'd actually succeeded. Then, he'd learned of her birthday through the grapevine, and he wasn't sure why the idea came to him – it just seemed to pop into his head. As soon as he heard that she was entering adulthood by turning seventeen, he realized that he wanted to give her something really special to mark the occasion.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the red ribbon he'd gifted her that fateful night, exactly six and a half weeks earlier. He'd retrieved it after he'd found it lying on the desk in the room they'd shared in the dungeon; apparently, it had slipped out of her hair when he'd been fingering through her curls during their amazing snog session. He'd been carrying it around with him ever since.

He held it up, needing no spell to illuminate it, for it glowed with an innate crimson fire that was, frankly, quite brilliant and wholly mesmerizing. He recalled how it had reflected in her eyes when she'd examined it.

"I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The ribbon was one of his most cherished possessions, being his first – and the best – thing he'd ever stolen in his life. It was funny how he'd felt… compelled… to give it to her. He'd found an empty gift box in Pansy Parkinson's trunk one afternoon when she wasn't around, and swiped it, deciding to use that for wrapping. He'd then carried the present around for a couple of days inside his robes, waiting for the right moment. By luck, he'd seen Granger the night of her birthday heading down the dungeon stairs as he'd been coming back from dinner. He took the chance and followed her. Unfortunately, she'd stepped into the labyrinth side of the basement; the walls had changed, and he'd lost sight of her quickly. It took him more than a few minutes to return to where he'd last seen her, but she wasn't there any longer, and he feared he'd missed her for good. His good luck held, however, as eventually, he'd heard her yelling and located the door that led into the bizarrely magicked classroom where she'd been trapped.

He sniffed in amusement. Of course he'd lied to Granger about shagging Pansy in a closet down the hall just prior to their meeting up. There was no way he was going to tell her that he'd been following her around for days. And of course he'd lied to her, again, when he'd told her that he used the ribbon to get other girls to have sex with him. He'd never given it to anyone else. Did that mean he actually cared for the annoying nitwit? How had that happened? Just the thought made him cringe, and he felt like vomiting at his own stupidity.

If there was one thing Draco Malfoy never did, it was care for a girl. As far as he'd been concerned, girls existed only for his pleasure, not the other way around. He'd learned that lesson after his father had taken him to visit a "Gentlemen's Club" in Paris last Christmas – a rite of passage, the elder Malfoy had called it. She'd been a buxom blonde, willing and ready, and his first time had been quick and unemotional. He hadn't even known her name; didn't care to, honestly. Afterwards, his father pounded him on the back in congratulations, bought him his first Firewhiskey, and advised him sagely never to let a woman enslave him with her charms, physical or magical. "Malfoys marry for status, wealth and blood purity," Lucius had explained, "Never for feeling." He'd then shockingly revealed that his own marriage to Draco's mother, Narcissa, had been arranged when they'd both reached adulthood, and that they hadn't even seen each other until the day of the wedding. It was then that Draco knew that he'd been bred for purpose, not conceived in affection. He reasoned that was probably why he was an only child as well. Apparently, his father respected his mother's position as the woman of the house and mother to his only child, but he felt no love for her.

The day after that, his mother had come to visit him. She'd been composed, but underneath that haughty façade, he knew she'd been nervous. "If you want 'distractions' my son, then take them where you can get them," she prescribed. "But never forget who you are. Not just anyone will do to carry on our family's great name. Take precautions." She'd then passed her son a small, red spell book, with a page marked for him to open to. The page contained an Anti-Conception spell, and he'd memorized it that same day.

Consequently, Draco took his father's and mother's advice to heart, and he'd since behaved with cold indifference in his handling of his private liaisons. By this last summer, he'd already had it off with several daughters of Ministry officials, all of the girls in his grade in Slytherin House, Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw, and Megan Jones from Hufflepuff. He'd taken the required precautions, of course, but there had never been soft words exchanged during the act with any of them, and definitely no promises afterwards. Draco didn't need, nor want, entanglements. It was just sex.

That is, until he'd spent a few hours locked in a room alone with Hermione Granger.

He snarled, shoving the ribbon back in his pocket. There was no fucking way he was going to let this obsession for Hermione Granger continue. First, the girl was interested in that patsy, Weasley. Second, she was Potter's best friend. And third, she was a goody-goody, know-it-all, dirty Mudblood.

Besides, he had more important things to take care of this year.

He cringed again when he considered what a mess he'd made of the cursed necklace a few weeks back. The Bell girl had almost died. He'd been responsible by directing Madam Rosmerta to place the Imperius Curse on her. That Katie was right now still in the Hospital in a coma gnawed at his gut. He'd never hurt anyone like that before, especially a woman. And then there was the slow pace of the repair to the Vanishing Cabinet. He'd already received a message from the Dark Lord about His displeasure that things were taking so long. Draco was beginning to become nervous. He'd asked Snape to let Lord Voldemort know that things were on schedule, hoping for a reprieve. He hadn't revealed his plans to Snape directly, of course, but the implication was clear: he, Draco, was chosen to do this task for the Dark Lord, and he would see it done - not Snape.

He had another plan to get at Dumbledore, of course. It was just going to take the right moment to put it into action. That moment wouldn't come until they neared the Christmas holiday, so he had time. Time enough to get over these feelings he had for Hermione Granger. He'd just have to figure out a way to get her into bed, and then he'd be over her. Because Draco never thought of a girl again once he'd had sex with her.

He spent the night considering a new plan, and finally, around midnight, he'd come up with something so devious and clever that he thought it just might work. He undressed, gingerly laid the ribbon under his pillow, as usual, and went to sleep, smirking.

X~~~~~X

The next morning, Draco awoke feeling quite randy. His dreams had been filled with memories of Gryffindor's Princess – her smile, her laugh, her luscious lips, the way her hips swayed as she walked, and how she'd so unreservedly responded to his touch that one night back in September. Gripping his ready and willing cock in his left hand, and rolling his sac with his right, he masturbated quickly to the erotic memories of her naked body and the kisses they'd shared. He came as he recalled the mewling cries she'd made during her own orgasm and how she'd tightened up around him in that moment, holding him close to her breast. With a soul-deep groan and a flash of red behind his eyelids, powerful spurts of semen erupted from his shaft to coat his naked belly.

Afterwards, he lay in a state of euphoria for long minutes, relishing the slow come-down from his climax, his thoughts again stirring to the girl who'd consumed his fantasies of late. "Hermione," he sighed, frustrated, torn by his feelings for her. He wasn't supposed to consider her sexually. In fact, he wasn't supposed to consider her in any manner other than dead at the end of his wand.

His chest ached at that thought and he rubbed at it, not liking the idea of causing her any harm, much less ending her life.

"What happened, Hermione? Tell me."

She'd looked so small and lost, lying slumped against the wall last night...

No, she was his enemy - she'd always been, by providence of birth! It couldn't be any other way between them. She was his adversary now as much as Potter, and one day, when the war was in full swing he'd have to kill her.

He shut his eyes and ground his teeth to the idea that he'd have to cast an Avada her way. Would he really be able to do such a thing?

Red flashed behind his eyelids.

"Happy Birthday, Granger."

"I knew it would be like this with you."

"Maybe I don't need you just for sex."

Memories flowed through his head, shredding his resolve. He wouldn't be able to do it; he knew that now. She'd weakened him with her swotty mannerisms and her beautiful, sincere eyes and the way she'd kissed him liked he was her whole world…

What the fuck did it matter anyway? She didn't remember any of that night they'd been locked up together. Besides, she was just another girl in a line of them. He'd had his fun with Granger, and sure, he'd like more, but he couldn't risk such a dangerous thing being fully ensconced in the Dark Lord's service now. He should just chalk the entire infatuation up to insanity and let it go.

But he couldn't. Something deep inside snarled in denial at the mere thought of never touching her again. He needed to. The desire was growing daily to possess her, to fuck her, to lov-

The familiar squirming under his left forearm started up again. His eyes roamed to the hated Dark Mark that marred the spot. The flesh under it wriggled, as if something was trying to push its way out. He'd stopped panicking every time he saw it do that now, having grown accustomed to the movement since the term began, but he still didn't understand why it happened. He wanted to ask someone, but who could he turn to? His father was in Azkaban and his mail was monitored. His mother had never taken the Mark, and neither had any of his friends. There was only Snape, but he didn't feel he could approach the man with such a private thing, as he was worried he'd report back to Voldemort that something was amiss. What if the writhing motion was some indication that he wasn't fully committed to the Dark Lord's tasks? He'd be killed, for sure, if his loyalty came into question.

But that didn't mean he wasn't affected by such a grotesque reminder of what he'd taken on. In truth, it made him nauseated to know that he'd been marked by such evil and that he'd given his will up to it without much coercion. If he could turn back time, he'd never have let his arrogance and pride dictate his actions; he'd have never offered his services to his new Master.

Looking away, he ignored it, knowing it would settle down in a bit. It always did.

Returning to the quandary at hand, he chastised himself. All of this self-doubt was bullshite nonsense. His course was laid, for better or worse, and he wouldn't be allowed to change his mind. The solution of what to do about Hermione Granger, therefore, was simple: he needed to wash her from his system once and for all. He'd made a plan last night, and it was solid, and he was sticking to it. Shagging the bushy-haired bint into the mattress would get her good and gone from his head so he could concentrate on what needed to be done.

That decided, he cleaned up and headed off to the showers to get ready to begin putting his scheme into action.

X~~~X

Forty minutes later, at the breakfast hall, Draco watched a sleepy Granger drag herself and her overstuffed satchel – was that new and designer? - to her table. Scarhead was walking beside her. Irked at seeing the two of them sharing companionable whispers, huddling intimately close together, he internally snarled. Fickle woman! Why, just last night she…

He cut off that rant before it distracted him from his main goal. Focus, he barked the reminder in his head. Observe. Wait for the right moment.

To his further annoyance, his intended target sat with her back to him today, so he was instead forced to look at Potter's ugly face, as the guy sat across the table from her.

Well, shite, this was not going at all according to plan! He'd have to take steps.

He turned to his Slytherin friends and said something biting about Potter's ridiculously rangy hair. Those up and down the table who heard all laughed, and it was loud enough a clamor to catch the attention of both Potter and Granger, who turned in her seat to look at him. He merely looked back at her and wiggled his eyebrows at her, smirking. From the way her cheeks rouged and her eyes hardened, he knew he'd gotten her goat. She flipped back around in her seat, back ramrod straight and murmured something to Potter. They then proceeded to ignore Draco for the rest of breakfast.

Score one, Draco.

After breakfast, he made an excuse to his mates about needing to find Snape and ducked out to follow Granger instead. With a wave to Potter, she headed off to the library, as he'd hoped, instead of accompanying him and Weasley to their common room. Draco stealthily followed, careful of his footfalls giving him away. In the library, Granger took her usual seat in the far left corner, lugging her heavy satchel onto the small, single desk. It was a secluded spot, with natural light falling onto the small desk from a high-arched window above, out of the line of sight of the rest of the room. The only way they'd be seen was if someone came down the row opposite or turned the corner on them. It was a good spot for an ambush.

He sauntered over to her and stood in front of her desk, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall. She seemed surprised, then annoyed to see him. She put the book back up to her nose, blocking him from sight. He chuckled. She sighed. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I've been thinking, Granger - you owe me one," he beamed.

She put her book down and stared up at him with a budding fiery anger that made him go instantly erect in his trousers. "Owe you? For helping me out last night, you mean?"

He nodded, grinning. "I saved your life, after all." Right, so it was a bit of an exaggeration, but if he twisted it just so…

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Overly-dramatic, much?"

He artlessly examined his nails for a moment. "Not really. The temperature last night was below freezing, and there was an Arctic wind to back it up. You'd have turned into a red and gold popsicle in minutes without me to keep you warm and you know it. Ergo, you owe me. You're in the Slug Club, right?"

She looked positively wary now. "Yes, why?"

He turned the full weight of his gaze upon her. "There's rumor of a Christmas party that he's throwing next month." He paused, making her wait for it. It didn't take long.

She leaned her head forward expectantly. "And?" she finally asked, annoyed with his non-responsiveness.

With a satisfied smirk, he let the bomb drop. "I expect you to invite me as your date."

Her jaw literally fell open with incredulity. "You what?" she shouted, swiftly standing, pressing her palms flat on the desk before her, righteous indignation flaming to life in her features. From down the row, there was a shushing noise from another student. Granger's face turned beet-red and she promptly sat down. "You're mental! Forget it, Malfoy," she hissed. "No way this side of Hell!"

He'd expected such a reply. He nonchalantly shrugged. "Shame, that. I so didn't want to have to tell everyone in the school about your little secret crush on the Weaslebee… and everything that entailed, of course."

"You wouldn't dare," she challenged, the threat of a promised hex or two in her voice. She was actually trembling in anger now, and her dark amber eyes cast hateful daggers at him.

He simply smiled wider, eyes narrowing, as if to say, "try me."

There was no doubt that Draco was treading into shark-infested waters now, as he had just upped the ante in this game between them by throwing down blood. The one, big drawback to his grand plan had been whether Granger remembered anything about those ill-fated few days back in September. She still claimed not to. If that held true, that meant that she didn't have anything on him regarding what they had done, nor the Dark Mark he bore, and he could safely continue to blackmail her. If that weren't true, however, he'd be up the duff. He was betting that she still had amnesia, however, by the mere fact that she hadn't already confronted him on almost taking her cherry, much less his status as an official Death Eater. Fate had been on his side up to this point; he was praying that it would hold out for a bit longer.

Granger pursed her lips together in fury, but said nothing. When her features shifted into pleading, he knew he had her. His secrets were safe, for now, and he was going to make her do what he wanted. "Right then," he cleared his throat. "It's settled. I'm guessing dress robes are appropriate attire for the occasion, yes?"

She paused, looking down at her hands in her lap. Her cheeks were tinged a pretty crimson to match her uniform tie. "Please don't do this to me, Malfoy," she beseeched.

She sounded so forlorn, that he almost gave it all up right there. He didn't want to hurt her, did he? He just wanted to get her out of his system once and for all, and this was the only way for him to do so. He'd been patient for months already - even if she didn't remember that fact. And he knew she was fecking attracted to him. At one point, she'd even wanted him as badly as he'd wanted her.

"I've given you a lot of my firsts tonight. I'm not ready to give up my virginity."

The 'to you, yet' had been unspoken, but he'd gotten the gist. There'd been no denying her intentions that night; she'd told him that, one day, she'd give him her virginity. It was practically a promise! So what if "one day" came a month from now? That was still plenty of time for her to prepare for the big moment. Bloody hell, she'd made him wait longer than that for her. "It's a deal, Granger," he teased. "No backing out, or else."

Quickly collecting her books and throwing them into her bag, she stood up and made ready to leave. Before she turned away to go, she tossed him a most malevolent look. "I hate you," she seethed.

Moving with haste, wanting to catch her before she slipped away, he stepped towards her, backing her into the bookshelf. Both of his hands shot out to either side to trap her between, and he leaned his face towards hers, giving her his best seductive leer. "I happen to know for a fact that you don't," he whispered, assuring his hot breath stroked across her cheek.

Taken aback by his boldness, Hermione shrunk as far away from him as she could. He tipped closer, never breaking eye contact, pretending to swoop in for the kiss, and waiting for her to push him away. He'd planned on laughing and taunting her at that point, but she surprised him when she didn't make a move to stop him. Instead, her tongue quickly darted out to wet her mouth in anticipation and her air exhaled in a rush from her quivering mouth.

The realization that she was curious to experience his kiss spurred him on. A wild, foolish hope flared to life in his chest.

His lips covered hers, gifting a gentle, chaste caress. Their eyes were both wide open, staring into the heart of the other as he touched down, and lingered a few, breathless seconds. Pulling back a bit, he watched her, measured her reaction. Her eyes were flared with a blooming heat, her cheeks stained, her mouth slightly parted. Her whole body trembled against his. She hadn't seemed to hate what they'd done; in fact, her whole demeanor said she wanted more. He happily obliged.

Swiftly pressing his advantage, he dropped back over her and began kissing with all of the pent-up longing that had tortured him since pretty much the start of term. Slytherin's soul, her mouth was so soft! He'd never captured such sweet skin, never tasted such purity. It was her innocence – it drew him in, made him crave until his skin burned from the need and he couldn't decide if he wanted to ruin all that beauty or fall to his knees and worship it.

More, need more.

Red fire roared through his veins and under his tightly shut eyelids as he thrust his tongue into the wet depths of her mouth and sipped, tasted, drowned in her unique flavor. Her breath was scented like the green apples she'd been eating at lunch. The tang made his gut tighten and his penis achingly hard. Weeping pre-come slicked over his heated, throbbing length, dampening his cotton pants clean through. Gripping her hips, he thrust a thigh between her legs and pressed upwards against her pelvis, rhythmically rubbing up and down.

It was September all over again, and he couldn't keep his hands or lips or tongue in check. He'd waited so long for this feeling to return. He'd been close several times, but had been continually thwarted by her stubbornness or bad timing, or both. He quietly moaned and pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, wanting to tell her the things rioting in his head and heart.

"Hermione… princess…"

Hands violently shoved him away, and he fell back several steps. Surprised, he met her dark, tear-filled eyes and saw that she wasn't consumed by lust, but was instead confused and angry. It occurred to him only then that she hadn't moved at all during their exchange, not even to kiss him back; she'd remained passive and still. He'd been the only one affected by the moment.

Before he could open his mouth and say something that would undoubtedly bite, Granger reached around him, grabbed her satchel and rushed out of the library, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she made fast her escape. The action caused something in his heart to constrict at the same time as his temper to explode. Something dark within him growled, urged him to reach out and stop her, to force her to the floor and prove she wanted him. Instead, he watched her retreat with clenched fists at his sides, feeling both torn up and infuriated by her rejection.

This hadn't gone at all as he'd planned, and now she had some serious fodder on him; she could say he tried to blackmail and force himself on her if she really wanted to hurt his reputation and get him into trouble with Dumbledore. He'd been stupid and careless, and he might have just also buggered up any chance he had of getting her into his bed, too.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Adjusting his taut length to a more comfortable position, he hurried out of the Library and down to the nearest men's loo. Luckily, it was abandoned, and he hastened into a stall, locking it behind. Unbuttoning and unzipping, he took his cock in his hand, shut his eyes tight, and wanked hard to the recollection of Granger's kiss. So soft, so sweet, so lush and wet. He licked his lips – and tasted green apples. That tipped him over the edge. With a muffled shout, biting his bottom lip until it bled, he released his seed all over his hand and into the clear water of the porcelain bowl below. It took several more jerks for him to find his full, satisfying end, and then he slumped against the wooden door, struggling to regain his breath and sanity.

Stroking the ever-present red ribbon in the pocket of his trousers as he cleaned up and redressed, seeking its calming influence, he came to the determination that this lunacy couldn't go on. Something had to give soon. He could feel he was on the edge. This need he had for Gryffindor's perfect Princess was driving him mad. In less than two months, he had become dangerously obsessed with Hermione Granger, and it was jeopardizing everything. It might even get him killed!

Gods, if only he could let her go! But the memory of her touching him with so much honest, beautiful passion that one night they'd shared in September haunted him, wouldn't let him find his peace.

"Kiss me. Hold me."

Oh, Christ, he was so jacked to shite!

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTES FOR CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Musical selection recommended for this chapter: "Inconsolable" by Backstreet Boys